September 22, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 22, 2016, the olive pitter.
Five years ago today: September 22, 2012, Rule 30, bingo, etc.
Nine years ago today: September 22, 2008, music by Limewire.
Random years ago today: September 22, 2013, Deborah Harry & Colt .45s

           Off to Miami. I got out of the house at 5:15AM and drove five hours with one stop. This is why I prefer motorcycles. That was the longest I’ve ridden in a car since 2003, when I drove from Miami to Beaumont in one stretch. Hey, I just felt like driving. You know, I didn’t care for the car ride. It cannot match the thrill of motorcycle travel. Inside the car is akin to watching a boring TV show. Nothing changes for an hour, than as soon as something interesting flashes momentarily, some jerk is there to distract you. This is how I imagine television, anyway.

           It takes longer by car, nearly a half-hour more. One has to allow for things like having to hunt for a parking space and you can’t zoom around blockages on the road. I stopped only once for gas. After sun up, I grabbed breakfast at the Belle Isle BK. What a noisy bunch of old buggers hang out at that place. Some of the worst can be these Nam vets. That was 50 years ago already, guys, you are leaving the impression you have not done much with your lives since then.

           The sunrise was glorious. I’ve got the new Vivitar with me so we’ll soon see how well that works. The car behaved admirably for the entire trip, but it just cannot match up with the breeze through where my hair used to be. Before I forget, one of the items I was in for was an eye check. I passed, it was the first time I’ve been checked for any potential problems with diabetes. According to my physician, I’m squarely in the demographic of people who develop diabetes, type II I think she said. Anyway, the eye doc says I should monitor my blood sugar. He states I do not have any sign of diabetes, but that there are minor vestiges of cataracts. See you in one year.
           He tended to give me a lot of instructions during the test, a lot of which corresponded to what is expected on TV. This doesn’t help me, but I believe the guy had honestly never met anybody who did not watch TV before. I had to explain I have no idea what some things he said even meant. And in my condition, his examination chair was terribly uncomfortable. I am no company, I shouldn’t say but around all I can do is drive the car—and I have to park facing forward since my cracked ribs mean I can’t turn my head around to see where to back up. Ever tried to park a station wagon using only the mirrors?

Picture of the day.
Confiscated drug money.
($205 million here.)
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Here’s a nice photo of an oasis. Most people miss spotting the camels in the background. I could not catch my motorcycle mechanic in the shop. This isn’t unusual in that good help in Florida is so hard to find, he runs a one-man operation. That means he’s frequently running out to get parts. He’s often said I’m the only person he’s met in Dade who could run his shop, but I’m in forced retirement. Let tell you more about car travel after around 14 years in the saddle. I don’t miss cars, so I’m kind of stating a preference for the motorcycle. I’m having to get used to the hassle of driving again.

           Worst hassle? Having to look for parking spaces. Wide empty spaces of nothing and Miami has still put all office and apartment buildings so close together that parking is always at a premium. These people are a thundering herd of cloned retards who can’t even lay down smooth pavement. I also had to pay for parking again. Beware of the patrolled parking lot in Dade county, there are spotters who make a living turning you in to the tow company. Happened once to my Cadillac, y’know.

           Unable to move about, I resorted to my old standby. Over to the bookstore and got me this month’s copy of “Analog”, a science fiction booklet that is mildly less predictable than the others. If only they could get rid of those wretched New Age poetry segments. Latter day jabberwocky by clueless pinheads to don’t realize it’s already been done. “I awake on planet Mesklin. Three halo-deer poke up at the edge. I lower my bio-bow. And orbit out to return.”
           We get it. The guy’s been eating a little of that mesklin. JZ talked me into going over to Dadeland. The place is full of hipster sorts with their custom scruffy looks and that top-knot. It doesn’t bother me how other men dress but that one, well, it does look a little funny. That my have something to do with how only dark-haired men wear them. The world already has enough dark haired men also grasping at anything they can to be distinctive.
           It doesn’t work. Ask the Chinese.

           We actually got a spot and walked into “World of Beers”, locally known as “World of Queers” because of the profusion of said top-knots. I could only sit there, but that was fine because in that room of two hundred people, there was not one good-looking woman. You get this in Florida. Okay, there was one sort-of 6, maybe a 7 if you overlook the man’s name tattooed across her shoulder blades. But the band, that was excellent. These guys played a mix of classics which I recognized and hip-hop which I did not.
           It was a four piece. Drums, bass, lead, with the singer filling in on acoustic rhythm. Why yes, I do happen to know a hell of a lot about this type of band, thank you for reminding me. This group was tight and they had a marvelous studio perfect sound. The state is weird, it is nine feet high and up in a corner of the building. This hip-hop, I find it to be bland, a mixture of a disco beat and over-orchestrated horn and string flourishes. And I’ve never liked whisper-singing. Hip hop makes me wonder if maybe

Quote of the Day:
“mother-in-law = woman Hitler.”
~ anagram
           Time for some speculation. You know those racks that fit on the back of a car to haul a wheelchair? It didn’t take me long to notice the dimensions and that the electric wheelchairs weigh half again as much as a motorcycle. Put two and two together and you have an idea that I have not yet made any decision on. But that is an interesting thought. I long ago speculated about making a trailer for the batbike. Tow it out to some new place, park the towing rig at the airport long-term, and tour the surrounding countryside in style. So it’s not that big a leap to a towing a smaller motorcycle, once I get a replacement.

           And that replacement is adding up to a small fortune. It took 8 months of careful chasing around to get the original up to par, including four major trips to the shop down in Hollywood. Or was it five? You cannot find parts or expert mechanics in convenient places. Locating the right parts takes considerable trained labor. We never did find those manifolds. That’s just the motorcycle, I estimate it will take 28 full hours of shopping to replace all the clothes, cameras, computer, and that’s not considering I have to take time off from other scheduled activities to do it. Or the cost of traveling to the stores. It adds up really quickly.

           For the record, the base cost of the motorcycle is $3,800 - $4,200. That includes the purchase price, the trip out to make the purchase, the new parts and labor placed on the motorcycle, and but not yet the cost of finding the parts or handling and shipping. It does not include the cost of trips to the pro shop or the time taken to make those trips. That motorcycle had new tires, chain, sprockets, fuel valve, spark plugs, wires, battery, windscreen, saddlebags, new carburetor needles, tuneup, and brake cable. That’s just what I remember. A quick glance at the offerings show that all the decent potential replacements are high mileage, and the Honda Rebels above 20,000 miles all require a new alternator, brake pads, and the carburetors were never made to handle ethanol gasoline.
           The [unmodified] motorcycle will run, but gets hard to start when parked over a day. This tasks both the battery and the starter, which are both expensive replacements. The Honda Rebel CMX450 weighs just 408 pounds “wet”. I’m sure it influenced Harley roadster design in the following years. A low-set lighter bike that women could comfortable straddle. And I’m a “yuge” fan of anything that appeals to women, within reason.


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